#and that we can now add a decade to all of those year counts and nothing has changed

[mankillercalledbunny]

Apologise

E. Abel, 2014

The year is 1955.

A fourteen-year-old boy

Named Emmett Till

Winks at a white woman in Missouri.

Days later

His body washes up

Soaked

Barely recognizable.

When it's finally identified

With its beaten black face

Smashed to the point

Where it's hard to think this kid

Ever had a name

It's sent to his mother

Who chooses

Not to cover his face at the funeral

To leave the coffin open

So all can see

The bruised and rotted flesh

Swollen discolored and bloody

With one eye dangling from its socket.

Thousands of people cry.

The pictures hit the news.

Emmett Till and his mother Mamie

Are names known across the country

And the men who killed him

Are found not guilty.

-

The year is 1964.

A young man

Named James Earl Chaney

Is working with the Congress of Racial Equality

As a civil rights worker in Mississippi.

He advocates voter registration

Trying to get black people

The representation they deserve.

The KKK has burned a church for blacks.

Chaney is investigating.

His bus is stopped

By a group of men

In pointed white hats and masks.

For weeks people search

Until his body is found,

But only because he went missing

With two white men.

The dozens of other blacks who have gone missing

In the same way

In the same town

Are never searched for

And the Klan members don't go to prison.

It takes 40 years

Before the man who organized his killing

Is sentenced

For manslaughter.

Four years later

A great leader is shot.

-

The year is 2012.

A boy of seventeen

Named Trayvon Martin

Is walking around Sanford Florida

Wearing a hoodie

Getting candy and juice

At a convenience store.

A neighborhood watch volunteer

Sees him slouching

His hood up over his head.

A gun is drawn and fired.

Trayvon keels over.

His pictures are released to the press

Who debate the issue more heatedly

Than the presidential race.

Rallies and protests ensue,

Millions sign a petition for the volunteer's imprisonment

But Florida says "Stand Your Ground"

And Zimmerman walks free.

-

The day is August 9th, 2014.

In Ferguson, Missouri

An eighteen-year-old

Named Michael Brown

Is walking down the street with his friend.

A police officer pulls up and yells for them to get on the sidewalk;

The two keep walking.

The officer pulls up next to them

Yelling again.

Suddenly a shot is fired from inside the car.

It grazes the teen's side

He and his friend take off running

The cop chases.

The friend hides behind a car

Fearing for his life.

A second shot hits the already wounded boy

The teen turns to his attacker instead.

Michael gets down on his knees

An innocent

Surrendering without a fight

In the hope that his enemy will have mercy

"Hands up

Don't shoot"

He cries.

BANG

To the head

BANG BANG BANG

Bullets hit the insides of his arms

His chest

The body lays in the street for hours

Police pick it up later in a van

The witnesses all say the same thing.

-

That night the protests start

Saying the same thing Michael said

"Hands up

Don't shoot"

"No justice

No peace"

Not a gun is drawn by the protestors

No threats are made.

The next night

Tear gas is thrown

As a crowd control tactic

By police.

Within a week

Armored vehicles and assault rifles

Have been dealt to the suburban unit

The people still protest in peace

Suffering burning eyes

And rubber bullet wounds

For justice

And Darren Wilson gets away with murder.

-

It has been sixty years

Since the death of Emmett Till

Fifty years since the deaths of J. E. Chaney and Martin Luther King. Jr

Two years since Trayvon Martin

And still one must wonder

What America truly thinks

When it says

All its people are born equal

If the life of a black teenager

Is worth less than the box of cigars he supposedly stole,

When those who are supposed to protect us

Can murder innocents

And walk away unscathed.

We may be the home of the brave

But the United States

Is still not

The land of the free

For anyone whose skin

Is darker than the sand on the beach,

We cannot say we stand for justice

Until all murderers sit behind bars

Instead of in front of their televisions

In the guise of a police officer.

America is crippled

Until it can stand united and say,

To the dark children

Whose parents have been fighting the same fight

For the last four hundred years

And have yet to gain their equality,

Until it can say to them

"I'm sorry."

‘Race and racism is a reality that so many of us grow up learning to just deal with. But if we ever hope to move past it, it can’t just be on people of color to deal with it. It’s up to all of us – Black, white, everyone – no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out. It starts with self-examination and listening to those whose lives are different from our own. It ends with justice, compassion, and empathy that manifests in our lives and on our streets.’ — Michelle Obama

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know�� it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist Next

Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers. 

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening. 

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled. 

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A tiny disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2

Warnings: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

You can also read on AO3

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him. 

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding. 

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true. 

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that. 

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed. 

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior. 

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again. 

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction. 

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s. 

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire. 

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help. 

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die. 

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off. 

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths. 

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American. 

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might. 

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said. 

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet. 

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at. 

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in. 

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain. 

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room. 

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged. 

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then. 

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment. 

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way. 

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.   

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared. 

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, “Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you. 

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted. 

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you. 

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal. 

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious. 

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.” 

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more. 

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell. 

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team. 

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you. 

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands. 

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe. 

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight. 

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.” 

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that. 

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.” 

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in. 

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside. 

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head. 

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged. 

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine. 

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived. 

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion. 

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.”

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?” 

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane. 

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag. 

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day. 

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to. 

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”  

“I told you I’d find you.” 

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.” 

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm.  “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line.  He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely.  He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”    When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[franzis-frantic-thoughts]

Who’s Afraid of Alex J. Newall? by Newt Schottelkotte is definitely worth a read to everyone who’s a fan of Rusty Quill Productions.

I count myself amongst those. Which is why I want to add to something mentioned in the article that I, alongside @nossorgs​ have special insight into:

The Transcripts.

In light of everything that has happened this year, the way people inside of RQ have been mistreated, abused, and exploited, the transcripts appear to be a minor issue. But as Newt has pointed out beautifully: They’re a symptom of something much bigger, namely disregard, miscommunication, incompetence, reliance on free fan labour and pretending to be something they’re not. In this case the producer of inclusive and accessible content.

The official RQ transcripts were launched early this year and it was immediately clear how terrible they are. Countless fans have surely reached out to RQ to let them know. After all, there’s a handy feedback form. A feedback form which, incidentally, is neither up-to-task, nor easily accessible as it isn’t linked anywhere near the transcripts, but only in the 26 January 2022 “news” update.

However, Nossorgs and I, as professionals in the language service industry, had concerns that couldn’t be addressed in the feedback form. So we sat down together and wrote a very long email, which we sent to RQ on 22 February 2022. We have received no reply.

I’m now, after checking with Nossorgs, publishing the email here, because I don’t want anyone to say “well maybe they didn’t know”. They knew. They just didn’t care.

They didn’t even care enough to fix these issues by today.

Here’s the email and all the exemplary screenshots are below a cut.

Dear Rusty Quill Team,

congratulations on launching your new website and releasing the transcripts for the RQ original shows.

Upon review of several transcripts (in particular the ones created for Rusty Quill Gaming), we wanted to voice some concerns with the company or software used to generate the transcripts, since there appears to have been a grievous lack of quality control and a large number of errors have made it to the released transcripts. Screenshots are attached and a list of general concerns can be found below.

As professional linguists, who variously have been or are currently employed as editors, translators, transcribers, or project managers in the language service sector (each with QA responsibilities), with over a decade of experience, we would highly recommend requesting a partial or total refund from the companies involved in generating these transcripts. As provided, the transcripts lack any form of serious quality control and may even indicate that the supplier(s) you have partnered with are fraudulent.

With the professional experience we have, we understand the difficulties that come with transcribing audio of this type. One speaker having multiple voices, crosstalk, and "unusual" turns of phrase (i.e. Pathfinder mechanics and terminology) being used pose great difficulties. However, the concerns we would like to voice are unrelated to the content of RQG, but basic issues that any professional linguist should have been able to avoid.

Many of the concerns we have can be traced to a lack of consistency, which could have been avoided by the simple creation and adherence to a style guide. Did your transcription supplier provide or request one? With a project as big as this, it would have been standard practice.

Please find a list of general concerns below, the file names of relevant screenshots have been added in brackets:

Many spelling and grammar errors, which indicate a lack of language skill (Spelling001 to 005). Professional linguists should only ever work in their native language to avoid such issues. There are official ISO guidelines regarding linguistic qualifications, which any agency of worth is aware of and regularly audited on.

Misspelling of player and character names and misattribution of lines (Spelling001 to 005). We do not know whether RQ provided a list of cast and character names to the transcription provider, but they should have realised that many unusual names are included and references are needed. They should have reached out and requested a list if it hadn't been provided. If it was provided, it was clearly not consulted.

Lack of organisation: The very first episode is mislabelled as episode 25 in the transcript (Episode1_mislabeled). Episode 25, in turn, only seems to be available in a word format, not as a pdf (this also seems to apply to other episodes, such as 203). The transcripts are not labelled in a consistent pattern, meaning that they are not sorted consecutively by episode number in the RQ Sharepoint, making browsing difficult (Filing001).

Lack of consistent speaker tagging: In most transcripts, the players are not distinguished from the characters they are playing, and the formatting is inconsistent in the episodes that do note in-character speech (Characters001 to 003). This is probably due to your transcription provider splitting the work over multiple people. This is a common and reasonable approach to spread the workload. However, the linguists should have agreed on a common system, or the central project manager should have dictated one. Lack of cast/character distinction renders the transcripts as good as unreadable.

Lack of basic QA regarding completion: Episode 183 includes internal formatting remarks of the supplier, which should have been deleted by them prior to delivery (CW001).

Content warnings: Listing of content warnings is inconsistent, if present at all, with one remark noting that content warnings were unavailable because they were not listed in the (fan-made) wiki (CW002). It is concerning that the transcription provider would refer to a fan-made, unofficial source, when RQ provides content warnings with all episodes in the episode notes. Surely, these are also available at RQ internally in a centralised document which could have been requested by the supplier.

We understand you are probably very busy creating and promoting your new shows and troubleshooting your new website, but transcripts of this quality actively harm your reputation as an accessible and inclusive company. The mantra "better than nothing" only applies to a certain extent here. Low-quality transcripts, such as these, are of no help to those who rely on them. Clear labelling of actors vs characters is needed in order to follow the podcast, and content warnings should have been included whether they are available on the fan wiki or not. Even if these transcripts are intended as first drafts, to be revised and polished at a later stage, they are at best unuseable and at worst dismissive towards those members of the fan community who are hard of hearing or have auditory processing issues.

Professionally, we recommend that you reach out to your supplier with the list of concerns and screenshots we have collected and request corrections. Whether or not you also request a (partial) refund is up to you, but we also recommend you do. If you do not trust your original supplier to take care of the required corrections accurately, it would be standard practice to request a quotation from another supplier and contact the original transcription provider with this quotation in order to bill them for the additional financial burden. Before choosing a (second) supplier and contracting them for all 200+ reworks, it would be advisable to do a small batch of transcripts first, in order for you to get a feeling for their quality, as well as allow them to make an accurate estimate of the effort involved and ask any questions that may already have come up.

In the language service industry, it is not uncommon to have to rework one's deliveries. Language is subjective and linguists are people. Mistakes happen. We understand this better than most fans. However, no professional, qualified linguist would have signed off on these transcripts with the feeling of a job well done. There are human errors, and there is a gross lack of basic quality assurance. Unfortunately, the RQG transcripts, as they are, fall into the latter category.

If you would like to get in touch, we would be more than happy to share our professional knowledge and experience regarding linguistic projects such as these, in order to help you avoid such problems in the future, for instance if and when you decide to add transcripts for side quests, specials, and bloopers. We are aware that you don’t usually work with fans and understand and respect the reasoning behind the decision, however, many linguists in the fan community are prepared to offer their own services as transcribers. You have a wide range of professionals in your fan community, and all of them come with the additional benefit of being familiar with the source material and understanding what format these transcripts should take in order to be of use.

With kind regards,

Spelling001

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[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 24 - Behind the Scenes

Summary: A decade into their careers, Corroded Coffin answers the ever-present question: what makes good music?

Word Count: 983

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Older!Corroded Coffin, Set sometime in the 2000s, 1st Person POV, News Article, Reference to Day 23 Up and Coming, friendship

Note: Thank you to the wonderful @br0ck-eddie for the beta read

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Cracking Open the Lid - Behind the Scenes with Corroded Coffin By Alex McCall

What makes great music?

I'm talking really great music.

The kind that inspires sold out shows and screaming audiences and a chart-topping album that's gonna win an award sooner rather than later.

Is it good lyrics? Something you can dance to? Die-hard fans? Maybe it's a little bit of everything, especially after a decade of slogging through bars and opening acts for bands that aren't as good and day jobs because gigs don't pay enough for the gas to get you to the next show?

Well, that's what Indiana-native Corroded Coffin attributes to their success.

"We got lucky," guitarist Eddie Munson insists as I join them backstage before their sold out Chicago show. "A thousand bands work hard and deserve to be here, work just as hard as we did but it truly is luck."

"We rolled a Nat 20," drummer Gareth Emerson adds, earning a laugh from the whole band. An inside joke for sure, but their history with Dungeons and Dragons isn't much of a secret if you've listened to their music at all in the past.

It's not every day that you get to cover a story about a band you "discovered" a decade ago, but here I am nonetheless. I passed countless fans lined up outside of the arena and chatted with a few of them. Stories range from hearing them open for Metallica a few years ago to someone who'd never heard of the band until they won tickets at work and became fast fans.

One of them asks when I first heard of Corroded Coffin, and I tell them, almost a little smugly, that I saw them playing live on St. Patty's Day at Cork and Kerry back in '90.

I tell the boys about it too--I'm allowed to call them the boys now--and they immediately dive into reminiscing.

"Was that the time," frontman Jeff Franklin can't stop laughing, "that Davey drank so much green beer he projectile vomited over the crowd at the end?"

"No!" Bassist Dave Nelson protects his honor. "That was the time someone threw a bra at you and you decided to wear it as a hat."

It was neither of those times.

No, this was the time Eddie decided to try crowdsurfing and landed flat on his face.

"Seriously you were there for that and you decided to come see us play again?" Eddie goans.

But it was that gumption that put them on my radar and made me want to see what a bunch of idiot kids from Indiana--kids like me, a transplant from Fort Wayne--had to bring to the table.

And it's been a rollercoaster ever since.

Since my first article about these guys, they've been everywhere man. Literally. Across the US, on tour after tour after tour. They recorded an original song for a major motion picture. They had their shot acting as extras in a movie too.

"That, uh," Dave shakes his head vigorously, "we don't talk about that, actually."

"First and last acting credit," Gareth agrees.

"Didn't you play Romeo back in high school though?" Jeff teases him.

It's this camaraderie that punctuates my time with them. I'm immediately laughing at all of their jokes, I'm folded into the intimacy of their group. And it isn't exclusive to my interview; this is the energy that they bring to the stage every night. It's what they've always done, ever since that first performance I witnessed and, I'm sure, every performance since.

And yeah I could talk about how they give me a tour of the green room and all of their snacks and the required video game console because Gare is almost done beating Legend of Zelda 2. Or their tour bus and Eddie's stuffed animal collection.

But it's their friendship that is the shining beacon of the band.

Always has been.

I ask if they fight much.

"Always" they say in tandem.

"Bickering like an old married couple," Eddie elaborates. "But I guess we are sort of married to one another. Lifelong commitments and all that."

I try to ask if any of them are married, but the band is notoriously private. (They told me, because I'm one of the guys now, I'm just not allowed to write about it.)

But private lives aside does that mean the band breaking up is completely off the table?

"I'm sure we'll retire at some point," Jeff offers. "Ed's knees are giving out."

"He's the old man of the group," Gareth snickers.

Something is thrown across the greenroom and hits the drummer in the head. A pillow. It starts some kind of pillow fight slash food fight between them all, and I even get in on some of the action with a well-aimed barrage of M&Ms of my own.

In hindsight I feel bad for the people who have to clean that up. I would offer some sort of compensation but the band famously pays their venue teams very well.

Someone calls a truce and we wrap up the interview.

I get to have my fanatical moment, showing off some of the articles and ticket stubs I've brought along with, as well as an old autographed polaroid that I've had at my desk for years.

I'm only a few years older than they are, and the way I've followed their career has been more like an older cousin hoping they make it big than anything. I've listened to their good songs and their bad, but I've never given up on them. None of their fans really have.

"We appreciate it man," Jeff nods and all of the guys have tears in their eyes as they agree. "It's all for you guys. And for each other. But for the fans? Always."

So what makes great music? I ask them.

And once again in tandem, I get my answer. But I guess I didn't need to ask them to know.

"Friendship."

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Pureblood Purists Actually Have Valid Concerns

Disclaimers

Before I start my post let me make 2 disclaimers since some people have a tendency to twist words on Tumblr:

Not all blood purists were death eaters. I am not condoning DE terrorism here. I am referring to people who held pureblood beliefs but never fought in a war to oppress people.

Harry Potter is a fictional world. My arguments are not meant to be extended to the real world.

Assumption about Magic

JKR does not specify the origin of magic. Is it like ATLA where it's a spiritual kind of thing and people are blessed by Lady Magic? Or is it a gene thing and wizards are a subspecies of human? For me, I am going to go with magic being a gene thing. If magic was like bending in ATLA then wizards should not be such a tiny minority.

Missed Potential of Umbridge Interrogation Scene

This post was inspired by Book 7, Chapter 13 – The Muggle-born Registration Commission. Specifically, the part where Umbridge is interrogating this poor muggle-borne woman named Mrs Cattermole.

‘Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?’

Umbridge's line of questioning is so ridiculous and JKR missed a golden opportunity to introduce some nuance here. She paints all purebloods who are not blood traitors as evil/bigoted. Just because this is a kid's book it does not mean she has to treat kids like idiots. Instead of painting purebloods as bigoted fools who believe magic can be stolen or sadists making up crack in this sham kangaroo court, she could have used this dialogue to present valid and ignored concerns of purebloods. Instead of crap like this, the Voldemort regime could be jailing purebloods who married muggles or mugglebornes on the count of them diluting their race. Or maybe firing half-bloods and mugglebornes and giving those jobs to purebloods. These actions are still wrong but at least they would be rational and add some depth. And purebloods have serious cause for concern. Let me point out 5.

Concern 1 - Existence of Squibs

In the books, we don't know the blood status of the parents of prominent squibs like Filch. But I bet the likelihood of your kid being a squib increases dramatically if one of the parents is muggleborne.

It makes sense to me that mugglebornes could be descendants of squibs. Making mugglebornes basically muggles who won the genetic lottery. In book 2 I think, Arthur claimed Granger was a historical wizard figure and asked Hermione if she bore a relation to him. She denies this but what if someone in the Granger family was a squib in the past and years later she got lucky?? So basically if you mate with a muggleborne, you are basically reproducing with a muggle. Which in turn increases the chances of a squib kid. Squibs can't function in the magic world properly.

Concern 2 - Wizards are a minority

Wizards are a minority in a muggle majority. It's a fact that minorities are wiped out when they reproduce with the majority.

Hagrid says this in book 2:

“Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.”

If Hagrid is right and most wizards are half-blood, how is this a good thing? Given enough time, if wizards keep diluting their race like this by reproducing with muggles, the wizard minority will slowly be erased which leads to...

Concern 3 - Cultural Erasure

It's more than just blood dilution but loss of tradition. Even if a muggleborne like Hermione integrates into the wizarding world, she will never truly grasp certain customs and traditions that pureblood families like the Weasleys and Malfoys will. For example, I came to the US for college. Even though I have been here for half a decade now, I will never understand what it is like to grow up as a kid in the US. I don't appreciate US holidays like Thanksgiving and Memorial Day. My kid likely will but they will have to learn those customs from an external source or maybe my future husband's family. Someone like Hermione may even see some pureblood/wizarding traditions as archaic and unnecessary. Over time, wizards will lose their culture and practically become muggles with magic. Which is why Hermione being minister of magic sometimes leaves a sour taste in my mouth. There's a reason why only born citizens can become president/prime minister for countries like the US (I would like to believe there is a reason anyway).

Concern 4 - Reproductive Issues?

Also, why did wizards need muggles to survive in the first place? Were the women/men having fertility issues? Was the wizarding population so minuscule that they were inbreeding? Or were they simply just horny for muggles? If small native/African tribes are/were able to survive without reproducing with white invaders or other outsiders why is it different for wizards??

Concern 5 - Lack of New Blood

Still focusing on Hagrid's quote. Let's say every pureblood family started with a muggleborne wizard/witch. Therefore given enough generations, Granger could theoretically become a pureblood name like Malfoy or Weasley. But there's a problem: there aren't enough mugglebornes!

Read Hagrid's quote carefully. He said wizards would have died out if they did not intermarry with muggles. Not that wizards would have died out without mugglebornes adding to the population!

This further adds to my blood dilution argument. Basically, we have a fixed magical gene pool which is being stretched every generation with more and more half-bloods being popped out.

Conclusion

Pureblood purists have rational reasons to favour blood purity and to be frustrated with "blood traitors". As more pureblood families like the Weasleys intermarry with muggles/mugglebornes, there is an ever-smaller marriage pool for purebloods. Throw in cultural dilution too.

If JKR wanted to add depth to the muggleborne discrimination, she should have shown how mugglebornes are critical to the survival of wizarding kind and how much purebloods actually need them. Maybe show them using their muggle knowledge to improve wizarding society while she's at it too? But it's like muggebornes like Lily and Hermione have amnesia and forget all about their muggle background! At least make wizards reap the benefit of magic and technology to balance out the issues of reproducing with mugglebornes and muggles.

I just wish JKR could have given purebloods more of a voice. Not all purebloods are crazy, bloodthirsty DEs or Dumbledore bootlickers. And oftentimes, there are reasons behind discrimination that should be examined and explored, instead of just demonized. Harry Potter is seven books worth of wasted potential. I don't know how anyone can say JKR was excellent at world building when the wizarding world feels so tiny and incomplete.

[not-quite-there-myself]

Just Like I Promised

A/N: I had to get myself to finish F13 just to do your request, haha (0/10 I cried). I originally wrote this in a headcanon format but I ended up with a fic instead, and mentions of the other sorcerers show up in this too... I hope you don't mind too much. Gah, this whole thing ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but I'm not complaining! Your username is so cute by the way! Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy.

The years after your departure from Bound Arlyn have been long and felt somehow less brighter when you were away. The six sorcerers you've gotten to know while you were there seemed to think so. Pollux especially felt different. He was used to being alone sometimes and didn't mind bothering people to play with him, but it was much easier when you were around. Now that you were gone, he had trouble getting used to the way things were without you.

He might not have realized how lonely he felt despite the other sorcerers being available to talk to. Arcturus and Spica were always busy with something but still talked to him just as usual. Alpheratz seemed to sleep more without anyone to bother him (he still couldn't be rid of Spica's pestering to move every so often though). Sirius, well… Sights of him were few and far between, but he still popped into Pollux's view when he felt that they were apart too long—can't leave his fellow Queen Tet sorcerer alone, can he?

Then, after more than a decade, he felt a strange pull in his chest one day. An aura too familiar to him tugged like heartstrings. He was just finishing up a mission when he felt like he was being watched somehow. Time stood still for a brief moment, his vision blurred at the blink of an eye.

Then he saw you.

"Summoner...?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. Then he saw you and his emotions got the better of him.

"Summoner!"

He barely processed being teleported back to where you departed all those years ago. Then he saw you and he couldn't help his legs that began to rush towards your direction.

"It's really you!"

At the sight of you he almost couldn't believe it, but the tug and the familiar feeling of magic and the feeling of your arms suddenly wrapping around him was undeniable. He practically threw himself at you. He could feel your hug, and you could feel him hug back. He almost bursts into tears when he hears your voice.

"I missed you so much."

His voice catches in his throat, but he manages to let out a reply.

"I missed you too, Summoner."

It's been twelve years since you were sent back to Mid Eartheim, but it felt more like a century. He missed you more than words can describe, not that it mattered all that much. You were finally back and that's all that really counts.

"So," you say after letting go of Pollux. "How were you these last couple of years?"

"Bored without you around!" He replies, earning a laugh from you. "So were the others, just so you know. They all really missed you a lot... Ah, but don't tell them I said that-"

"Don't tell Summoner you said what?"

Both of you jolt at the voice; Spica's voice, one you know well. You turn your attention to Spica, who'd been standing there for a little longer than you thought. But it wasn't just him. Alpheratz, Arcturus, Sirius, and Vega stands with him too. From the looks of everyone's faces, it seems like no one was expecting to end up where they were, especially with you present.

Pollux yells, "Gah! How did you all-?!"

"Quiet down, kid." Alpheratz interrupts, "It looks like we all got teleported here when Summoner showed up."

"I don't think any of us would've expected this transition... Or expected to see you," Vega adds.

Arcturus nods happily. "Hehe, yeah! It really surprised me when I was here with everyone all of a sudden."

"I guess it's not just Pollux who's sensitive to Summoner's magic," Sirius jokes—though he couldn't be less farther from the truth.

You stand there, almost as stunned as Pollux after Spica's—and everyone else's—appearance. He almost covers his face in embarrassment, yelling, "You guys-! You should've said something when you all got here!"

After your reunion with everyone, it was as if nothing changed. At least, it certainly felt that way. Everyone else seemed happier to see you, at least, according to what Pollux tells you. None of them would admit to how deeply your departure affected them. You didn't need words to know how they felt. But it was safe to say that you were just happy to be in Bound Arlyn again.

"Summoner, you have to try this one! It's one of their best things on the menu!"

When the dust settled down, Pollux brought you to a new restaurant you haven't seen before. It's not exactly new anymore as it's been around for more than a decade, but it was still new to you, so it counted as far as Pollux was concerned.

You enjoyed the flavour of the dessert Pollux recommended you try. It wasn't too sweet, and it was soft and light and went well with tea or coffee. You expressed your positive opinion about it with a mouth full of the dessert. He only beamed at your reaction.

"Of course it is! I told you so."

You chuckle, finishing the rest of your food. "Thanks for bringing me here, Pollux. This is a great place to hang out."

As the two of you head out to leave, there's a small hint of an emotion you can't discern from Pollux's face. The sorcerer seemed almost sad for a moment before shrugging at the thought of feeling that way.

"Pollux? Is something the matter?"

The sorcerer shakes his head. "No, it's just... I promised to bring you here when you came back."

Something like a flashback came to you then, a faint memory of Pollux saying something like that way back when.

He smiled and added, "I'm glad I was able to keep that promise."

You smile back at him and say, "I'm glad too."

[yanderes-galore]

Hello hello! Sorry this took a while but I'm finally finished! I wasn't sure about how much you knew about the game or if its just been awhile and maybe you've forgotten some stuff so I tried to include any info that might be important or that might add some context. Plus some in game dialogue that's written in blue and terminal entries are in orange. I also included some of his backstory as well. I hope this helps! :))

• He's wanted by the Halcyon Holdings Board and has been hiding way in his lab for the last 35 years to avoid being arrested and/or executed.

• He's determined to save the thousands of colonists remaining trapped on the Hope in their hibernation chambers and to save the colony from the Boards wrongdoings.

• (The Hope is a ship containing thousands of people who were supposed to make it to Halcyon but ended up arriving decades later due to a malfunction in the ship. The Board decided to hide the ships discovery to avoid backlash from the people. Phineas was a scientist working for the Board at this point and grew frustrated that nothing was being done to help those trapped. He tried to find a way to help the people by attempting to revive them behind the Boards back, eventually being caught and classed as a murderer and criminal)

• Later on in one of his entries he states that he is indeed a murderer and that he's regretful of his actions. He also believes that only the Hope's colonists can forgive him.

• "They say I'm a murderer - and they're right. I am. I regret what I've done. But I'm not about to turn myself in to the Board. I'm not going to go begging the Board's forgiveness." "Only the Hope's colonists can forgive me for what I've done. They're the only people who can set things right. And I'm going to find a way to revive them, no matter how long I have to stay in hiding."

• In a way he might even be considered to have a bit of a saviour complex.

• Most likely would've found the reader at the start of the game when he randomly selects a colonist from a hibernation chamber who becomes the MC.

• Seems relieved (maybe a bit happy as well?) when getting a new potential ally, especially since the few people that he has spoken to recently have all died due to explosive cell death. "Looks to be your lucky day, my friend."

• Due to having a bounty on his head, he doesn't have many people he can trust and rely on, the few he trusts are those living on the Groundbreaker.

• (The Groundbreaker is an orbital station and is the only place in the game that isn't under the control of the Halcyon Holdings Board)

• He convinces the MC to help with getting more chemical supplies to save the other colonists. (If he became yandere at this point he'd probably use this as a tool to keep the MC helping him by potentially guilt tripping them (sorry I'm just rambling here lol)) "Unfortunately, I used the last of my chemical supplies saving you. I know it's a lot to ask, but I must have your help securing more if we're to save the rest of your fellow colonists." "Good luck. I'm... all the colonists are counting on you."

• Phineas sounds more annoyed that Hawthorne was crushed under the pod than shocked or surprised. Not really seeming to care all that much, immediately dismissing it as a minor inconvenience and telling the MC to go and steal his ship.

• "Hawthorne won't mind you taking his ship. Better you than the Board, eh?"

• (Now that I think about it he's probably just desensitised to death at this point and assumes the MC is too (they probably are as well to be fair))

• Absolutely hates the Board and everything they stand for. "I need those chemicals to revive the Hope's colonists. They can help us fight back against the Board. They can help us set things right. If we don't put a stop to the Board, they're going to drive this colony toward a complete societal collapse." "The Board, all their lackeys - they're all a bunch of SWINE! Do you hear me? They're fucking corporate SWINE!"

• Phineas definitely has PTSD from his past failed attempts at reviving the colonists as written in his entries. "Can still hear the screaming. Trouble sleeping. Trouble concentrating. Psychological toll... significant. On to subject number thirteen."

(In my opinion I could definitely see him being more of a subtle/manipulative yandere. Like maybe he'd try to convince the MC that the only person they can trust is him. Honestly I'm actually really excited for his concept now haha. Funny cuz I didn't even know this game existed until like 3 days ago lol-)

🐋~ anon

Posting this to look at when I'm more awake. (Accidentally set an alarm when I didn't need one and now I'm half sentient)

YOUR HELP IS GREATLY APPRECIATED, THANK YOU FOR WORKING SO HARD FOR ME, YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO! 🥺💜💜💜

[blubushie]

Warning for trauma shit. This is pure vent and contains (a lot of) mention of CSA.

Fucking hate getting a Google Drive folder from an investigator and he goes "hey can you ID if any of these are you so we can add them to the charges, each one is gonna be an additional count for possession" and I have to meticulously analyse an out-of-focus wall to see if I recognise the fucking wallpaper.

He sent me 19 images. 12 were titled "[trigger-word]boy[number]". All of those twelve were me as a preteen--with me cropped out of course, but I know those walls. There were two more I couldn't ID as me or not because the shade of wall was right but the image was so out-of-focus I couldn't tell if that was actually the wallpaper of the caravan I grew up in or not.

Y'know how fucking disturbing it is to find out someone you've never met before has a fucking picture of you that you can't remember ever being taken, but you know those eyes, and you know those buck teeth, and you know that jaw, and that scar over your eye you can barely see if the light catches it just right, and you know that's you? And not just that, but there's a total of 26 pieces of media of you as a kid that he had in his possession, 5 of which are explicit and one of those five is the full 2-hour and 27-minute video of the torture you endured at twelve fucking years old that still haunts you when you try to sleep at night.

These are pieces of my life--ten years old and smiling, eleven and laughing, my twelfth birthday and the cake Mum made, the day my parents brought me to the Kangaroo Sanctuary in Alice Springs, two of me playing baseball, one up at bat and the other mid-pitch, the first time I ever sat on a horse, I'm nine years old and missing my two right front teeth because I tripped into the sink when I got up late one night to piss and took them both out at the same time. Little snippets of my life and growing up through the years that're tainted because I know this man who I've never met knows far more about my life than I know about his.

64 counts for possession. 26 of which are me. Jesus fucking Christ.

Just when I think it's behind me, somehow it comes back to rear its ugly head. Like my past is haunting me with the knowledge I'll never be rid of it. We're always gonna find one more, and we'll chuck the book at him but then we'll find out he sent it to a dozen different other bastards we can't identify, and tracing it is hopeless. It's out there. It'll always be out there. There's no escaping it. There's no outrunning your past when it runs at 100mbps.

I'm going to walk into that courtroom, and he'll recognise me--same eyes, same split chin, grown into my teeth but the scars are still there--and I won't know him from Adam. He'll know what I look like stripped down to skin--not how I look now, but how I looked a decade ago, yeah.

He'll recognise me. I hope he never forgets my face. Hope he sees it when he rots in a fucking gaol cell for however long they put him away for. I hope it haunts his memory at night the way it's haunted mine all these years.

[subzeroparade]

Doing the Writing Review 2023 open tag left by @tinygigas, because taking stock of the things you’ve accomplished is supposedly good for your mental health, or so I’ve heard.

(this tag is open so tag yourself and talk about your writing •ᴗ• unless this post has made you go "I should be writing" in which case, go write).

Words and fics  ➻ 151,905 words of exclusively Bloodborne work because I decided to give myself wholly and unconditionally to an almost decade-old fandom (as opposed to last year, exclusively Elden Ring) posted on AO3  ➻ 10 fics posted on AO3  ➻2 WIPs, one of which should be done by the end of the year. 

Ships ➻ Mostly Ludwig/Laurence, though I think in regards to the “Moon Divorce people come get your juice” tag, I too now count as Moon Divorce people. Also Caryll/Rom, rarepair of my heart. 

Top Fic by Kudos ➻ Litanies (73)

Top Fic by Hits ➻ The Feast We Were Promised (1,189)

Fandom Events  I organised/ran a little writing workshop for some friends & acquaintances that I think (and hope) went rather well. Everyone’s work was delightful and they took feedback with more grace and enthusiasm than many undergrads I’ve been paid to give these workshops to. 

Upcoming Projects ➻ The so-called Moon Deal fic - because I call it that - or at least Part 1 of it by the end of the year. ➻ Some short/experimental pieces if I can get around to it. Something to push me out of my comfort zone, in which I otherwise sit and refuse to budge. 

Writing Reflections  ➻ I am overjoyed to have had conversations here and elsewhere that have wrung entire fics out of me based on statements not even meant to be prompts - including, Laurence sits on Ludwig’s lap to shave him and Why does Gehrman dress like discount Dracula? ➻ The chance to do real, systematic studies of some of my favourite authors, and find new ones to add to my repertory. All writing is fundamentally derivative - so you might as well get intimate with the voices you love the most.  ➻ Under any and all flashy technical mastery and thoughtful research remains the primacy of storytelling. That’s the music. 

Thanks for reading, and especially to those who've taken the time to engage. It's WIP Wednesday, so a little snippet of upcoming work below the cut.

[polyamorouspunk]

Happy Friday!!

I have so many projects going on man I'm going crazy lol. I think some of the projects need put on hold until I save up for a decent sewing machine though.

But I've got my garden going again, and my coworkers gave me a deadline to write a childrens book based on doodles, and Im working on my zine that for some reason I can only open in chrome(???), and I wanna do a little research with my punk 101 posts, and also I need to do research that Im not really in the mood for so I can make that music map.

Oh and also I'm going to see Radium Girls (a play) tomorrow with a friend, and I'm debating if I'm going back to my college sunday for my friends graduation, but I dont really want to cause its gonna be raining. And also also, Some (different) co-workers wanna play dnd with me, but I dont think I'd like playing with them just from knowing them for a few months but I dont know how to be like 'no', but also Im on a HUGE dnd kick (I got new converse I need to show off btw) but have no one to play with and that makes me sad, but I dont want to play with people who will make it not fun for me :(

But how are you? How was your week? Any fun plans??? (side note: do you like dnd, just out of curiousity?)

I ain’t making people scroll though this

My week has been… better. Better than last week. Monday I took a day trip to Virginia Beach by myself to kind of clear my head and my soul, purge some of that pain and negative energy. Last night when you sent this though it kind of just… came back… which is why I didn’t answer this then.

Tomorrow I’m going out with my family to some botanical garden that only opens like 4 times a year or something to the public. We’re bringing lunch with us so I guess we’ll be eating together somewhere, maybe at the gardens.

I’m counting down the days until I fly back to CT to go see Electric Callboy with my friends, and then hopefully go to the aquarium with my gf + friends. Other than that I don’t have any plans for that trip. I still have to tell my brother + my other friend when I’ll be up, I just feel like any spare moment I have I use to recover some psychological HP.

I’m going from working 30+ hours a week to only 3 days a week soon because we’re getting self checkout on Monday. Hopefully I can use that time to work on some things for @prideful-things-shop, mainly the snowglobe tumblers (don’t worry, you’re getting one of the Eeveelution ones).

I’m still waiting to hear back if we can go to that concert and trying to book my tattoo appointment for that Friday.

I LOVE Radium Girls, I read the book, it’s one of my favorite books. I know they turned it into a play and a movie, but I haven’t seen either of them. I actually grew up near one of the locations in the book. They put a mall right next to it, so that’s where I used to go to the mall. I’ve never been to the clock factory, but it’s a museum now. Maybe I can add that to the list of things to do when I go back home. It’s also right across the highway from one of those defunct Jesus theme parks. I’ve wanted to visit that too.

I’ve never played DnD, but my friends made a game that’s similar and I was part of the pilot test group for that, and apparently they’re still playing all these years later. It’s been almost a decade.

My mom wants to make raised beds but we haven’t gotten that far yet. She wants a saw, just hasn’t been able to spare the money for it yet. I’ve offered to get it for her but she declined. We were looking at them while I was looking for the drill I bought for the tumblers. She has a lot of potted plants though lining the porch, including some herbs, and I think she’s planning on some carrots and cherry tomatoes.

I’ve been studying the sub-genres of metal music for a while, basically so that I can ID a song/band by it’s genre and guide people towards recommendations based on what they already listen to (country, pop, rap, etc.). The idea of making a music map sounds really exciting, I would love to do some research for something like that (like I said, I’m already using spare time to do that on my own anyway).

I’m really hoping once I have more free time I can also go back to working on my patch pants. My grandma bought us a sewing machine from the thrift store she works at, and she taught my mom how to use it, and my mom has used it to make pillow cases for outside pillows, but she didn’t buy outdoor fabric and they faded quickly. This year I paid for some outdoor fabric we picked out together along with some more fabric for my patches, so I’m turning our front porch into a fruit-themed area, which my mom isn’t really thrilled about but I’m the one paying for everything, so…

The other day there was a big snake on the front porch and my mom had to kill it. It was a pretty rough experience for both of us. We have a cat that lives on our front porch which is who found it, and then our neighbor has a cat who lives on her front porch, and we’ve had snakes get in the house before, and now we have indoor cats, so it’s just a risk we can’t take. It made me reflect a lot about city vs country life and a lot of things tied to that (poverty, race, queerness, etc.).

Here’s to hoping we can both have a relaxing but productive summer, and I’ll see you soon xoxo

[satohqbanana]

A couple of thoughts on SekiRaku, Youko and Rakushun, and their questionable age gap - and by a couple I mean a multitude.

Canon Says

As reference, Youko is canonically 16 and Rakushun 22 (iirc).

On the more canon side, Youko's romantic feelings - if any - for Rakushun feel quite one-sided. Though she tries to be bolder through her words (e.g. "I consider you a prince of Kei"), he tends to dodge, deflect, or even scold her (perceived) declarations of affection (e.g. He told her "[not] to indulge in personal whims like you're naming a pet" in regards to naming her ruling era as "Sekiraku").

Add to that, Rakushun still keeps his Kou citizenship, pours his time into studying (which could take up to two full decades! - meanwhile Youko is eternally 16), and maintains that they live in different realities and are far from each other. He literally thinks he doesn't deserve to be treated so handsomely for picking up the then-unknown ruler of Kei. He's very mindful of their statuses and social ranking. Rakushun's actions make me think he's actually actively pushing for the gap between the two of them - whether he acknowledges her affections for him or not.

I think it's also good to consider that Fuyumi Ono mostly ever does shiptease for these two but confirms little, since she likes to write politics, warriors, and philosophies after all.

Shipping Says

That said, on the shipping side, Youko is eternally 16 - for a few years now. Counting the actual years, she is technically already of age, and even if she "waits" she'll never really "be" "older". Then again, she's already a deity, so the rules that apply for her have since changed. As the Imperial Kei, she can't even be married via ceremony to another; she would only have a common-law marriage with any partner she might want to bring into the court.

Also, if anything, I think it would bring massive relief to the anxious Keiki to know that she holds affections for someone else who is not him.

On Rakushun's side, it's harder to imagine what he feels towards Youko as a person and not just as a King. He needs more character development for a romance to bloom between them. But I see why his more humble views of himself makes him an attractive, non-aggressive option as a partner.

My Opinion

Is it dodgy? Yeah. I admit I forgot that Rakushun was 22. Do I ship it? I sure do.

Like I said, no matter what happens, Youko is 16 - eternally. (And it's Keiki's "fault" he even came to get her at 16. By him making her the King of Kei, her age stopped forever.) She's no longer human - if she wants her godhood to end, she literally has to die. (Compared with Shoukei and Suzu who can get in and out of humanity and demigodhood via the Registry of Wizards.)

Despite so, shouldn't we apply our rules of age of majority on her? I'm not so sure. I think she's at the age where she would be dreaming of finding someone to spend her life with. I imagine Youko getting upsetti spaghetti over it. Besides, given the themes Fuyumi Ono intended for her to tackle (and that is young girls going against tradition), I think Youko just disregarding her age gap and other whatever social gaps with Rakushun would be on-brand and in-character for her, even if we (or Keiki) disapprove.

And like I said, for the relationship to actually happen, Rakushun needs a massive character upgrade. He constantly talks himself down in his POV.

Besides, they're legitimately happy to be in each other's company. Their conversations are amusing to follow. They're cute together and they treat each other as actual persons and not as Imperial Kei or hanjyuu - even if they do consider those things once they're not in front of each other. I like that.

Fuyumi Ono however would likely not touch upon this more, though. Besides, 12K is a political high fantasy novel. TBH I want more stories of the other kingdoms - Dreaming of Paradise (Sairin and her first emperor) tore my heart out and Blue Orchid (very early Shouryou En) still has the most beautiful catharsis in the series for me.

What-Ifs

Now, if I had to answer how the ideal SekiRaku romance would go, I think I'd like it to tackle the following.

Youko's perspective should explore the age gap thing and her identity as a deity. There will be a lot of embarrassing conversations. I think we should also get more worldbuilding stuff on courtship - I don't know, maybe have Suzu and Shoukei receiving gifts or proposals, or even Shouryou giving unsolicited advice and even dodgier life stories. I would also want to see how Youko perceived/perceives romance as a 16-year-old, both from when she was in Japan, and now as she is a King of Kei.

I would also like to have Keiki's opinion on this matter - mostly because of his constant comparison between Youko and Jokaku, and also because he does acknowledge Rakushun as someone important to Youko. I would also like to know if kirins actually understand romantic love; all I get from reading Keiki's perspective on Jokaku is that he couldn't understand her (romantic) love for him even if he indeed already (non-romantically) loves her.

Rakushun also needs to get over his hanjyuu complex. As realistic his views towards society could be, his relationship with his hanjyuu identity is unhealthy. (I think he's been dehumanized to the point he has to shun clothes - a basic commodity - to manage poverty.) I think he should spend more time getting comfortable in his human form - that is still himself, after all!

TL;DR

Yeah, I see why you wouldn't ship them and why Fuyumi Ono wouldn't write them as an actual couple, but I still ship them for reasons beyond the age gap thing. Also I need their ship to answer a couple questions beyond what makes a legitimate romantic relationship, and yes, by a couple, I mean a multitude.

But yes, it's mostly just wishful thinking.

[ofsmokenandgold]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?:

53

2. What's your total AO3 word count?:

335,362

3. What fandoms do you write for?

For the longest time I only wrote for Star Trek AOS; with a fleeting dip into Sherlock. Then this year I started writing Star Trek Picard, and that led me down a rabbit hole to The Musketeers, so now I'm writing that too.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I've Been Chasing Grace Sherlock:John/Greg

A Vibration of Delight Pike/McCoy (ST:AOS)

Winged Desires and Veiled Persuasions Pike/Boyce/McCoy (ST:AOS)

Though My Soul May Set in Darkness Pike/McCoy/Kirk (ST:AOS)

Of Hopes and Fears and Twilight Fantasies Pike/McCoy/Kirk (ST:AOS)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try to. Occasionally I will miss one, especially if it's on an old story, but I will try to get to those eventually. Comments are life.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

If This is Goodbye (ST:AOS)- a canon-compliant Pike/Boyce story set around Star Trek into Darkness, it makes people cry. Hell, it still makes me cry.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Done With Bonaparte (ST:AOS) The Pike/Boyce story that is an alternate ending to Into Darkness, defies canon and lets Chris live.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not so far and I've been doing this for decades.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Smut is pretty much my go to genre. My entire Weight of a Man Series is a glorious smut fest - with a lot of relationship-building. I am a little more into hurt/comfort right now, but there is a lot of smut built into the "comfort" part.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do not, I generally can't write in more than one fandom at a time and now that I find myself equally obsessed with ST:Picard and The Musketeers I can't honestly figure out a way to do a crossover with them (I know, failure of imagination).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

My very first foray into fan fiction (long before the internet) was a round-robin story with three school friends that we kept going for five years (I still have the notebooks). It was based on The Quest - a very short lived US Western series with a gorgeous young Tim Matheson and equally cute Kurt Russell.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

If you look at my output it's clearly Pike/Boyce (ST:AOS). And they will always be my boys. But right now I'm all things Aramis and Aramis-in-space which has me shipping Rios/Shaw and Aramis/Athos and I think that will sustain my writing for quite a while.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I really don't like to abandon stories and that's why until recently I never posted anything until it was finished. So anything I have started on AO3 will get finished eventually. However, I have stuff in my WIP folder that might never see the light of day, including an early-career Pike/Boyce that is mostly written.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Details, I do details really well, I like to feel immersed in a place or a situation and I do that by giving as many details as feel appropriate for the story. Sometimes that requires a lot of research, especially for Star Trek, but it all adds to the texture of the story.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Adjectives - I use too many of them. I also have a tendency to have way too many run on sentences. Sometimes that's necessary for the pacing of the story, but I always consciously look for them when I'm editing so I can see if I can rework them to be more manageable.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've only really started doing this with Aramis/Rios and I still don't do much of it, just to make a point. The context usually provides clues to the meaning, and if not then I write the meaning into the text somewhere.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First - The Quest, and Blake's 7 - For public consumption, Star Trek AOS (first on Livejournal and then AO3)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Winged Desires and Veiled Persuasions (ST:AOS) Pike/Boyce/McCoy I wrote it in a gift-exchange for my fabulous beta, and it just came together and works in a way that stories rarely do. It's a perfect little threesome smut-fest with lots of feelings.

If you’re reading this and want to play, I hereby tag you with no pressure. 🥳

[rockinlibrarian]

Year End (okay, Beginning of Following Year) AO3 Wrapped/Fic Writing Summary Thing!

My Scrivener files are in limbo right now because I'm in the long process of transferring computers (longer because the new computer I got for Christmas turned out to have a faulty motherboard), so most of my end-of-the-year round-up drafts are having to wait. But it finally occurred to me that I CAN do some other roundups in the meantime!

Like my AO3 Wrapped For Writers!

I saw several such lists of questions this year so decided to consolidate them, and most (but not all) of the questions had been in the list I did last year anyway. But I also switched the order of questions so they flowed more logically! Without further ado...

1. How many words have you written this year? As I said, my Scrivener files are in limbo, but AO3 says I POSTED 65,857 words this year (meaning 2023. This Past Year). But this is not what I've WRITTEN, since that includes three chapters of "A Captain With Seven Children" and two of "Not Just Stupid Kids" I actually posted last year, not to mention the nearly 9,000 words of the "Pipeweed Mafia Epic" I wrote a decade ago but only POSTED in 2023. And on the other hand there's all the words I wrote and DIDN'T post, but again, can't get into Scrivener to tell you about those.

2. How many works did you publish this year? 8. Though two of those are just ones I added chapters to. And one's still anonymous, because it's too tangentially smutty to have blaring away on my main page (but you can read it here. Don't worry, it's not actually that smutty, it's just LINKED back to a smutty fic).

3. What’s your longest work of the year? "The Magic Man of Oz" at 15,004 words, which even beats out all FOUR chapters of "Captain With Seven Children" (14,754 words).

4. What’s your shortest work of the year? Posted on AO3, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" at 2,785 words, unless you count the rather short chapter I added to "Not Just Stupid Kids" that actually began life as a comment on someone else's fic. But I think my actual shortest fic is what I wrote for @sunnymarbles after we finished reading Maureen Johnson's Truly Devious series. I had not posted it on AO3 because I thought I had to fill it out more, but now I'm thinking it's complete as it is, so here, in its entirety of 61 words, is "But Where Is the Moose?" 

The moose of the Green Mountains knew to avoid the place they called the Unstable Slope, or “oooOOOOOOoooo” in their native tongue. Ninety generations had passed since the first BoomQuakes broke the mountain, and still young moose were warned away, despite tales of a mythical lake that appeared suddenly there for several years, only to just as suddenly dry up again.

Okay, I guess that doesn't really have a beginning, middle, and end yet. But what more does it really need? It's moose folklore.

5. What work was the quickest to write? That one, probably. Or that bonus chapter of "Not Just Stupid Kids," which was, after all, drafted in someone's comments section.

6. What work took you the longest to write? Considering I did add a LITTLE bit to "The Pipeweed Mafia Epic" before I posted it this year, and I started that on March 26, 2011, I'm going with that.

7. What work of yours got the most hits this year? It SAYS "Not Just Stupid Kids" with 958, but again with the most-of-that-is-from-2022. Entirely published in this year's is the two chapters of "Morning-After Meltdowns" at 509. But I really have to give the prize to "4th Place"'s "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" for earning all 332 hits in just the past week!

8. Top Fic by Kudos: "Not Just Stupid Kids" hit a nice round 100 after its year and a half existence; but with the same caveats as the last question, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" earned 87 kudos in just the past week, so can you really call that second place?

9. How many kudos in total did you get this year? Approximately 309. Counts old chapters and doesn't count old fics, so...

10. Which work has the most comments? "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" at 26 unique comment threads, which brings us  to:

11. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? See above. Yuletide readers are the BEST commenters!

12. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? "The Magic Man of Oz" is brilliant, dangit, even if I'm the only one who can appreciate it! Do you know the thought that goes into seamlessly merging two seemingly completely different stories? Not to mention all the meta format-bending involved in this particular work?

13. Favorite work you wrote this year? Hmm, yeah, probably that one. Though all those commenters telling me I'm funny have increased my own appreciation of how well "Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" turned out.

14. Which work of yours have you reread the most? Might be that last one, on the premise that I tend to reread my fics whenever I get a new notification about them. But really that IS just the past week. I honestly don't know.

15. Most written fandom this year: Umbrella Academy at 5 out of 8

16. Most written rating this year: Teen, mostly on account of swearing and drug references I think. A surprising amount of both, coming from me.

17. What’s your most common category written this year? Gen! Beautiful gen! I have not entirely forsaken you for Fiktor! (Which is confusing enough to categorize when you keep writing scenes that take place entirely when a trans man was presenting as a girl! It reads as F/M! Unless you happen to know that in the broader context it's really M/M! Stupid romantic relationships! Gen is so much more straightforward!)

18. Pairing you wrote the most for this year/most written relationships: yeah, even IF you factor in "&" relationships (which I usually forget to mark, except this last one because "Chidi&or/Jason" was specifically what my Yuletide person asked for), no pairing dominates like my Five/Viktor Hargreeves obsesson. If you're just joining me, no I don't know where that came from either.

19. What’s your most common/favorite “Additional Tags” tag? Overall it's still "backstory," but I don't think I actually used that one THIS year. But when you filter it to just the past year, the tags are all spread out, so there are a bunch of twice-used ones and a bunch more once-used. I think we need to shout out to twice-used "pseudo-incest" though because, HAH... But my FAVORITE of the Twice Used tags has to be "crack treated seriously," because that is something I truly do endorse.

20. Your favorite character to write this year? This year I can confidently say Oliver Bird, since he narrated my longest and most experimental (completed) work. But a close runner-up is Jason Mendoza, who is so gifted in the art of the non-sequiteur! (And I would have loved to have written more Janet, but what you got was the most I could squeeze her in).

21. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? Strangely, Kerry Loudermilk. I still think she reads too young in "Magic Man of Oz," which is probably because I'm so used to writing her younger-than-canon, and the tone of the story did fit with that younger Kerry, but I'm still a little frustrated with it. I saw some Tumblr post a few months back that was like "People who are obsessed with writing a character either know the character in excruciating detail, or they're in love with a completely different headcanon character who's so far removed from the original, and if you think you're both, you're not, you're just the latter!" And I was looking at Lioness-Kerry like, no, I AM both, I swear I know who she really is, she's just coming OUT all headcanony!

22. Favorite title you used: Of whole works, "How to Catch Up with your Therapist after a Couple of...Busy Months." But last year I said my true favorite was probably chapter-in-progress title "High On a Roof Stood a Lonely Seven" and this year I actually POSTED that chapter so HEY.

23. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? Which again brings us to Rogers and Hammerstein, but that was the ONLY lyric-inspired title posted this year. I did quote a variety of song lyrics WITHIN "The Magic Man of Oz" though, which brings us to...

24. What do you listen to while writing? Besides the Instrumental playlist, I did specifically listen to Dark Side of the Moon a lot while writing "The Magic Man of Oz"

25. Fandom fic events you participated in this year: Last year I would have had none, this year I did TWO! Umbrella Academy Masked Author in May, Yuletide in December!

26. Did you do any collaborative works this year? I would count "The Magic Man of Oz," because that was the product of a Discord server brainstorming session, and a lot of ideas came from other people. But no sitting down and writing a story together sorts of collaborations.

27. Did you write any gifts this year? Yes, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" was my Yuletide assignment, and I'm halfway done writing an additional belated Yuletide treat as well. I also Gifted "Magic Man of Oz" to the person who suggested the AU to begin with, but I'm not sure they ever actually read it.

28. Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes, my Yuletide gift was a very Snickety All the Wrong Questions bonus scene, "miscommunications" by carterhaugh

29. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? Again, Scrivener's in limbo.

30. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Well, last year I PROMISED I'd be posting "Child of Hypnos" and the rest of "Tesseract," and I didn't, so this year I'll try again, and hopefully also add at least one chapter to "Captain with Seven Children"

31. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Rather than any specific pairing, I think I'll make more of an effort to mark "&" relationships. I recently was talking to a Loudermilk fan who'd never read my fics because they'd just clicked right to the Cary & Kerry tag! Whoops!

32. Favorite dialogue you wrote this year? “Nobody uses money in the Good Place! You just walk into Steak On a Stick and say, ‘Hey, I want some of that Steak on a Stick!’ and they say, ‘Here you go,’ or, if you’re thinking, you go, ‘Hey, Janet, can you bring me a grande basket of Stupid Nick’s Garlic Pepper-Spray Attack Wings,’ and she goes—”

“Fresh from the fryer!” Janet held out the basket of wings.

“Oh, dip, Stupid Nick’s! Thanks, Janet! How’d you know I wanted some?”

“You just asked me!”

“She’s so smart!”

[...and a few paragraphs later...]

“It’s like, this one time, me and Donkey Doug were gonna rob a bank for my birthday, right? We had all the tuna and stink bombs ready to go, but then a crew of rogue pirate reenactors from St. Augustine attacked Ponte Vedra so they had to close I95 for hippo infestation, and yeah, that was kind of a bummer for a ten-year-old kid, but in the end we got to go to Sea World, so—”

“You were te— actually, I’m not sure what part of that story I should question more.”

33. Favorite non-dialogue passage you wrote this year? A certain fight scene about 3/4 of the way through "Magic Man of Oz," which wouldn't work if I copied and pasted it here, so go read. Luckily, Oliver is full of delightful bits of narration (is it cheating to pick favorite "non-dialogue" passages from a work with a very strong narrative voice?) in the rest of that story, too, like

"Beneath the ice is a young boy, ostensibly, entirely in grayscale and with an overly large head— possibly papier mache. He looks very, very angry. Or perhaps, looked very, very angry, because he is also clearly very, very dead,"

"Sydney and Matilda follow the road for several days…no, seconds. No. Sydney and Matilda follow the road for several amounts of time,"

"And so, either because her understanding of scarecrows is such that standing unsupported is less surprising than talking, or simply because something inside her remembers how this story is supposed to go, Sydney sets Matilda on the ground and unties the straw man, whose long limbs slide and glide and ultimately straighten,"

"And, perhaps unwisely, as one never knows what might be powered by a mysterious plug in the woods, she pulls it,"

"They both lead to a man. A Ptin Man. The “P” is not silent, despite what your previous understanding of ancient languages might suggest,"

and "Frankly I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing now. A narrator requires something to narrate, and my characters are…just…lying there…like worms forced upward by a downpour."

And shout out to this bit, which is technically also not dialogue, but lyrics: “Ha ha here, ho ho there/

and you will quickly find/

we know exactly what you need/

it’s something for your mind!"

Which, iykyk.

34. Biggest surprise while writing this year? That I'd never actually written for any of the main Good Place characters before. It felt so natural! But I hadn't! I'd only written for Shawn and Bad Janet and Vicky in that Community crossover!

35. what you learned from writing this year: to pay better attention to Yuletide deadlines. From writing itself? Have fun trying new things! Strange formats ate fun!

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Bank of England

So the Bank of England has now literally said, “Britons need to accept that they are poorer now”. Now, in very small fairness to them, they have stated that this means that companies should not be jacking up the prices on everything in order to maintain their profit margins. However, it’s also being used to beat the drum of, “Stop asking for wage increases”, and it’s flagged up that a lot of the main companies found that higher prices boosted their sales revenue this year and we’re looking at nearly 20% on food inflation. That’s not even counting the bullshit with the energy companies.

Keep in mind that this statement came from the Bank of England, who is run by a man who makes nearly £500k per year. Said governor, Andrew Bailey, was the first one to say that we have to stop asking for pay rises. The chief economist, Huw Pill, makes nearly £200k per year.

Median salary for people in the UK? £32,300.

So the words, “Easy for them to say” ring rather loudly.

Now, if they were explicitly saying, “Look, companies cannot stunt their staff’s wages to increase their profit margins this way because you will end up with no one being able to buy anything and everyone loses, so suck up the reduced profit margins, for fuck’s sake”, that would be one thing. But of course, that’s not how the economy works anymore. All that matters is that the numbers are higher than last year. There’s nothing backing this money ... except other people’s hard work. And companies are abusing the fact that no one really seems to understand this ... or, if they do, are called socialists or communists or worse if they call it out.

The fact is that people’s labour hasn’t been valued properly in a very long time, because corporations have been devaluing it for decades. We’re more productive than ever, and we have less and less to show for it. We deserve pay rises more than these ultra-wealthy jackasses need a new boat. And people on six-figure salaries have a fucking nerve telling people who are barely surviving (if they are indeed doing that well) that “you have to get used to being poorer now”. Those people this shithead’s talking about? They were already used to being poor. And no one should have to get used to being fucking destitute.

I own my privilege in that my mother took full advantage of every opportunity to get financially ahead in the 80s and 90s and is now reaping the benefits, and is at least understanding enough of current circumstances to help me. I’d be boned if I didn’t have that financial safety net. I mean it - I could not manage. Even with that, there’s a reason I took more hours at work, that reason being I can’t really afford not to. I want and need to manage on my own as much as possible, but it’s difficult because, you know, disabled. The extra five hours a week were a mistake. I am already feeling how much of a mistake that was. But I haven’t really got a choice, so I’m just going to have to spend some of that lovely extra money on painkillers and carry on. Because it’s only going to get worse from here.

So ... yeah. Here’s me, with my fibromyalgia and my dietary restrictions and all of it making life difficult financially. If I had to pay rent, I’d ... I just wouldn’t be able to. If I can barely manage a six-hour workday when I don’t even have to commute, I can’t imagine a standard workday. (I’d say 9-5, but I don’t know if that’s even standard anymore; somehow it feels overly generous for the world today.) Add a commute into the equation on top of that? I remember how it was before I went on long-term sick leave to pursue a diagnosis on all this; how I ended up spending almost half my day near or in tears from the pain. And I think how lucky I am, because without support, I’d still be doing that, and I wouldn’t be living in half as nice a place. And even with that, I’m still pushing myself harder than I should to manage all the stuff that isn’t rent.

And these jackasses with their six-figure salaries are telling people like me - and more to the point, those who are worse off than I am - that they have to get used to being even poorer?

Part of this is being hangry, I admit. Dinner’s in the oven, and tomorrow’s online grocery shopping day, and I am going to arrange my purchases so I have the fixings for quick lunches that I can eat at the “employment” side of my desk. And then I will get in the habit of actually bringing those to my desk first thing so I don’t forget while in The Zone. Anyway, part of this is hangry, but most of it is just ... there’s not even a word for what it feels like to live in this country anymore. There’s anger and there’s sadness and there’s blind panic and creeping terror and this miserable resignation and ... it’s all bad, put it that way.

At least I will feel better after I’ve eaten. I’m just tired of having to feel this fortunate to be eating at all. It’s more than a lot of the people who’ve been told to “just accept that you’re poorer and stop asking for a raise” can do today.